I am a Tom Waites Song
by LadyLove5000
Summary: L.A's long, bony finger, which has dark skin because it is a mix of a thousand different cultures, and little palm trees painted on the nails, beckons and Little Black girl comes. Because L.A. is beautiful, and L.A. knows it.


A/N: so this is my first fanfic and there have been several technical difficulties but after much deliberation I decided to make it into one document. As you can guess, the chapter names are bold. Oh, and although it doesn't directly deal with the same charactors as Juno, it deals with the same themes so it seemed appropriate to stick it here. The story line is all my own but many names were borrowed from good ol' Tommy boy. Thanks chap ::tips hat::

**$29**

The moist hot air all but oozed from the LAX terminal walls. Brochures for taxi cabs and big attractions like Sea World and Disney Land wilted in their stands, or were fanned pathetically by the Hawaiian t-shirt adorned tourists who clutched their martinis and peanuts in a last effort to hold on to bare sanity in the stifling heat. Students sat cross-legged or lay lazily on the somewhat cool tile floor, next to the soda machine that had chosen that one day, that one awful day, to not work.

And then there was Little Black Girl. She stood out against the pastel waiting seats in her bright red sequined dress and black pumps. Her severe posture gave no evidence that she was effected by the heat, indeed she was from America's west where there were much more severe heat spells. Her face was a carefully controlled mask of detachment but her palms were sweaty as they clasped to her breast a ratty looking alligator purse, which had no relation to the heat either.

She sat there for two hours. Getting up a few times her dress shimmered as she sauntered to the drinking fountain, which was graciously cool. She'd never sauntered to anything before in her life, having grown up in a homey and modest suburb, but in all the old movies the beautiful ladies sauntered so Little Black Girl figured it was appropriate to do so. She was in LA, and she was going to become a movie star, a real bonofied sunglass-bearing glam-queen. Rodrigo had promised anyway.

Rodrigo. Where was he, anyway? He was the reason Little Black Girl had even been able to escape the monotonous land of the minivans, a sweet talking senior with a smile that had way too many sparkling teeth. Still, what choice did she have? She had come with the clothes on her back, the fake skinned purse, and $29 stolen from her mother's purse. She was helpless against Rodrigo, and such a prospect felt deliciously romantic, like the ladies of old saved from terrifying dragons by the knights in shining armor.

Rodrigo resembled no knight. He had thick black locks that complimented his rich hispanic completion. His posturing and features gave him a subtle feminine overtone as he leaned against the automatic glass doors looking somewhat bored and tired. Not your typical talent scout but this was L.A., even the street signs seemed unorthodox. He stifled a yawn just when Little Black Girl spotted him, and she got up slowly so as to facilitate dramatic effect, her pumps click clacking satisfyingly on the tile floor.

He appraised her unashamedly, disappointment written clearly on his face.

"Your boobs are too small.."

"You are Rodrigo?" she tactfully replied in her attractive southern drawl. She looked unflinchingly into molten amber of his eyes and he was surprised. Most of the girls he'd coerced to fly here had been the epitome of blonds, curls bouncing excitedly they rambled on like annoying chattering little birds.

"Yes" he agreed with a bright smile. He motioned for her to follow him and his shiny leather boots glistened in the high afternoon sun as they proceeded across the dirty looking parking lot into a nondescript black car. A man with no hair sat in the drivers seat, shielding his eyes he too gave her the once over.

"Bit tall isn't she? I suppose that didn't occur to _you_ though" he said this without accusation so much as innuendo. Rodrigo shook his head in the manner of those who have received teasing often and no longer had the inspiration to fight it. The bald man jerked his thumb to the backseat, and Little Black Girl got in behind him. She hadn't said a word but she stared defiantly at them both through the rearview mirror. Nothing else was said during the drive and gradually she surrendered to fatigue, product of a sleepless night. When they pulled up in front of a seedy hotel some forty-five minutes later, she at first thought that there had been some mistake. This wasn't the beautiful L.A. that Rodrigo had promised, with champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

"What is this?" she asked, confused.

"Home, my little princess," Rodrigo replied cruelly.

"No..you said…you said that we'd be staying at the Penthouse at the Pallazzo and then the acting gig would be tomorrow..the commercial!" she stuttered desperately.

"Foolish girl, didn't your parents ever teach you not to take promises from strangers?" he mocked back. He reached over to grab her arm but she tried to twist away. She clawed him with her long red painted fingernails. His laughter turned to a hiss of pain and he punched her back in retribution.

"Watch it!" the bald man barked.

"What? She's black, a black eye won't matter! And besides some of those kinky fuckers might like that.." Rodrigo retorted.

She was utterly dazed and shocked for a few seconds. Nobody had punched her in her life, especially not a man. She felt tears catch in her fluttering eyelashes, to flow down her face like diamonds. The full realization of the situation hit her then, the two men had no intention of making her into a starlet. She grew ten years in that moment. Santa was dead and the Easter bunny had been a lie and she was going to be kept her against her will, at the mercy of two cruel men who were violent and couldn't care less about her.

She couldn't fight back, so she followed them up the two flights of concrete stairs, flanked by craggy trees and littered by browning leaves, past the uniform doors with peeling sky blue paint to the last room. The brass number twinkled with rays from the sun as the bald man slid the little white card into the handle, easing it open to reveal a room with twin beds. Little Black Girl walked inside, expecting the men to follow but they shut the door immediately afterward, leaving her alone in the room.

Or so she thought, but then her ears detected the splashing of water in the direction of what must have been the bathroom. A young woman sat in the little chair next to the ancient looking TV. Her toenails were bright blue and she inhaled a puff from her cigarette as she appraised Little Black Girl despairingly.

"Nice dress" she scorned, shaking(?) the cigarette in the ashtray that was balanced on the TV.

Little Black Girl chose not to reply. She glanced at the beds, whose sheets were old and yellowing, and decided she'd rather sit on the floor. She drew her knees up defensively; hanging her head she wiped away the streaks of tears across her face.

Another woman came from the bathroom. She looked so young, but her eyes were hollow and haunted. The lingerie she wore seemed almost childish, bright pink with purple ribbons and feathers. _Just from work_, Little Black Girl thought darkly.

"New meat?" she inquired of the smoking girl upon noticing Little Black Girl's crouched figure. The girl just shrugged.

"Hey kid" she said more loudly, capturing the Little Black Girl's attention, "Rules: don't make a lot of noise and don't leave the room, Rodrigo wouldn't like that. You can sleep on the floor." And with that she turned from the girl and collapsed unceremoniously on the bed. Minutes passed and then the other girl snubbed her cigarette and followed suit.

The sun was still high in the sky but when all the lights were turned out Little Black Girl felt really exhausted. She laid down with her face to the wall, to slip into an uneasy sleep in which she hoped against hope that discovering Rodrigo, the months of correspondence and preparation, and the disastrous meeting had been all a bad dream.

**Blue Valentines**

_In our world of modern terrors, of drugs, debauchery, pedophilic priests and politicians who couldn't give a damn, mans worst creation was the stop light_, decided Romeo. He sat before yet another one in the crowded little streets of L.A. Los Angeles, in which within one square mile there were the elite, from movie stars to oil tycoons who lived in glorious splendor, and down the block homeless cruised the streets with crazed determination.

Romeo was neither one for splendor or determination. He sat in his ford mustang, the 1968 classic that Bullet immortalized, his hands resting gently on the stirring wheel and his hair tied back in a little pony tail. He was a wandering philosopher, a minister with no congregation and who didn't want one anyway. But today Romeo was brooding because today was Valentines Day.

When he'd turned 21, Romeo had found his Juliet. The only problem was she was 20 years older with a disinterested husband and two teenage sons scarcely younger then himself. They'd carried out their affair and it had been fueled by true love and passion. Eventually the flame had flickered and Romeo had moved on to other prospects. Now Romeo, Romeo with the charming tongue and brooding thoughtful eyes, was no slouch as a Casanova, but still as the years passed he realized that he'd love no one like his dear first. Maybe it was better that way. Still every Valentines day, without fail, she'd sent him a single rose. It was never marked or labeled but Romeo always knew it was from her and it saddened him because it told of a time when he'd been much more young and innocent and the world has seemed so much bigger and _good_. The rose sat on the sleek black dashboard, alone but not abandoned. Romeo lifted hiscigarette to his lips and then exhaled softly. He hummed to the sweet hispanic sonnets on the radio that drifted out the open windows, twined with the swirling smoke, into the cool night air.

……

He pulled into the hotel parking lot where he was crashing with friends who he had never really like but for their familiarity and consistency. The world was a cold and lonely place. He charmed the clerk in the lobby, a blossoming young Asian girl whose uncle had been uneasy by Romeos friend's stay there but who couldn't refuse because they had paid in cash. She flirted with him in the way of the young and inexperienced and he discovered that his friends were currently loitering in the pool area, drinking _cervesas_ and swapping crude jokes like their ancestors used to share stories and mythology.

The pool water was bright blue and the lawn furniture was used and yellowing and Romeo was content. He leaned back in a chair and placed his boots on the chipped glass of the table that the once pretty blue umbrella impaled in the center. Rodrigo looked up and noticed him for the first time.

"Hey hey Romeo" he said with a stoned laugh.

Romeo saluted him back with his long and graceful fingers and Rodrigo again rued the day that he had ever fallen in love with him, because Romeo was never around. Another man stood up, who Romeo didn't recognize, and left followed by three other men who didn't matter.

The man with the shaved head, who pulled by the arm a young frightened girl with chocolate brown eyes, soon replaced them. She wore a bright red sequined dress, which was what had drew Romeo's eyes too her, because her dress was red and the rose had been red, the rose gifted by his long lost lover.

She looked exhausted, with dark circles beneath her eyes and the black eyeliner was smeared down her dark cheeks. Her mouth was rouged red and Romeo thought that it would be very kissable, but he wondered why'd he'd was even thinking about this, because many of the girls that the shaved man brought had very kissable lips. Still he felt somehow drawn to this girl.

She sat down gingerly on one of the pool chairs, and declined the Mexican beer but greedily devoured the greasy onion rings that were fresh from that little burger joint down the street. She was followed by girls who looked much more comfortable in the presence of the men, sitting down on offered laps and joking along with the men just as crudely. They were beautiful, but the girl was a virgin and for some this was infinitely more attractive.

Romeo again felt drawn to her and saw no reason to fight it. He got up and walked over to nonchalantly lean against the planter that held drying palm trees that was beside her and waited for whatever to happen next

"Can I read your palm?" she asked him. Her voice was warm and husky and it pleased him so he presented his hand to her, interested by what she might find. She traced along it with her fingers but she closed her eyes.

"Many love you and you do nothing to discourage them. Yet you do not love back…maybe cannot love back. You shall die at the hands of the one you loved the most…but it wont be a sad death. Your death shall be one that breaks the monotony of a restless life" she predicted in an even tone. She opened her eyes and grinned sheepishly. "My Grandma was a seer…but the doctors said she was a schizo."

Romeo had been taken aback by her abrupt manner, juvenile honesty. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of himself, but he decided in that moment that he didn't want this girl to become a used whore like so many of the bright girls had been reduced to. And it felt good to have a cause.

"Come with me?" he asked.

Her eyes widened but she nodded to the bald man, who was discussing soccer animatedly with the man beside him. Romeo just nudged her and got up to leave. She could follow if she wished.

**A Sweet Little Bullet From a Pretty Blue Gun**

Days passed.

Little Black Girl's toe ring twinkled with her feet on the dashboard of the mustang. She wore a yellow sundress, borrowed from a mannequin off Rodeo Drive, and the glove compartment dug into her thigh but the wind was cool through the open window and Romeo sat beside her.

Their's was a mutual insanity. They lived life for the experience, sneaking into private art shows to talk loudly in strange accents and disturb the spectators who milled around trying to look interested, or sharing white wine and limburger in the parks that were lit with fairy lights. They loved, made love, laughed, breathed, and lived one another, and life was a documentary with an invisible video camera, in which the sounds of crying babies, clacking heels, and honking horns were merely part the soundtrack.

As Romeo watched Little Black Girl bob her head to the music thumping on the radio, her arms arcing and her fingers wanting cymbals, he thought of how she'd break many hearts. Her body was angles. A Picasso masterpiece, a modern women.

"Do you ever wonder…" she began, breaking the silence, "what you'd look like if you were in a persons dream? I mean you'd probably look totally different, and sound totally different.."

"And the persons perspective would factor in too" Romeo continued, "Not just the physical realm, but how they feel about you would determine what you'd be doing in the dream, what you'd be saying, too."

"If you were in my dream we'd be in New York"

"What does New York have that L.A. doesn't?"

"I don't know…But I'd like to say I'd been to there. When people ask about my life, you know?"

…..

The sky was pink and orange and hints of purple blue chased after as the sun began its descent into darkness. It was summer and with the long days Romeo and Little Black Girl decided to go clubbing. They appeared in the same clothes that they'd been cruising in for the last week and a half, but they looked so alive and vibrant that people were attracted, and soon a little group formed around the dancing pair.

Men and women ground their hips to the fast beating eighties beats that blasted from the speakers, reverberating back against the purple fabric colored walls to send waves of electricity into the charged air. Romeo was in a slow sensuous tango with some Persian girl with beautiful red hair and piercing green eyes, dancing to his own music as Little Black Girl walked with pointed steps to the bar to escape the claustrophobic gathering of people of all ages, colors, and backgrounds.

She leaned against the surface of the bar, holding her head in her hands as the migraine coursed through her brain. All of a sudden she felt trapped, like the walls were constricting around her and Romeo, her lifeboat in this bad bad city of temptation and misery, was nowhere to be seen. The barman leered at her, pressing a brightly blue colored drink with the customary tropical umbrella sticking out of it into her palms. She took a tentative sip, and it was overly sweet, but she needed to distract herself from her fast beating heart and her sweaty hands. She could feel that something was wrong.

Next she knew she felt a hand tapping on her bare shoulder. She turned to Rodrigo staring back at her, a shit eating grin cracking his face in half.

"Fancy seeing you here…is lover boy with you?" he asked offhandedly, splaying out his fingers before him in the effort to appear nonchalant as he studied them carefully.

Romeo had seen him approach Little Black Girl and in that moment he disentangled himself with his love struck dance partner, fighting the surging ameba of dancing bodies that clotted the dance floor, to wrap his arms around her. Rodrigo looked up at the couple, hiding his hurt and betrayal in a look of despairing dismissal.

"Precious, really, but the big man is not pleased, my friend. Princess here is supposed to be working Heart Attack and Vine, you making her disappear…he is angry." Rodrigo spoke languidly.

"You know I care little for your little games of politics and mafia. I was never his, no one owns me. I can do as I wish." Romeo replied.

"Be that as it may, she can't" Rodrigo trapped a lock of her hair in his slender fingers, and he pulled slightly for emphasis and she winced in pain.

"We behave like Romans, with our love of violence and indulgence. Ill fight for her, will that please him?"

"Fighting will not produce another girl and that's just economics, even the hopeless romantic in you should understand that. Now if you were to give up that so called freedom of yours.." his eyes brightened as he lifted a maraschino cherry to his lips from a little glass bowl on the bar, "Join us, play along with our 'little games of politics and mafia', then the girl could be…forgotten, shall we say?"

Then Little Black Girl spoke, her words firm, "He will never join you, you know he wont. That is why you love him."

Her words caused visible misery and anger to him. Deep down he knew it was true but watching Romeo clasp his arms around the girl, she who looked so right in that warm and muscled nest, he couldn't help becoming filled with a deep rage. His eyes burned a hole into her heart.

"There's no use trying to escape," he replied, but then upon reflection added, "oh how tedious this job has become. I feel like one of those afternoon dramas. It's not my fault really, that your so selfish, I'm really not the bad guy." He sucked another cherry between sensuous lips, before he turned to depart.

Little Black Girl was not well, the weeks of alcohol and late night promenades had been cruel on her body. Already chills began to run up her limbs as the fever ran rampart through her body, but they were distracted. Romeo knew that Rodrigo was jealous, that he would make life hard on them and she knew it too. She also knew that Romeo would leave her if he felt that he put her in danger, and the very thought terrified her. She clung to his navy blue blazer, with a white gardenia in the button whole, hoping that she could keep him anchored. He was her lifeboat.

**Romeo Is Bleeding**

The street scintillated with the brightly illuminated signs on both sides that argued with each other over who had the best coffee, dry cleaning, gentleman's rooms, and liquor stores. And standing like a sentinel was the old movie theatre. Grime darkened the marquee and some of the titles were misspelled but it still showed all the old classics, which reminded Romeo of days gone by.

He stood on the empty sidewalk, the owner of Chinese Take Out glancing at him suspiciously as he pulled the metal cage over his shop signifying another closing day, another second closer to death. Romeo didn't notice though, too caught up in his own thoughts chuckling at how spaghetti western-esque he felt, standing there waiting for one of Big Man's drones to confront him. A Gun for Ringo playing absently in his head, Romeo wiggled the fingers at his side, ready to pull out the imaginary pistol and shoot out the windows of the laundry mat that advertised in big pink letters that this week only free drying service if you tried the new turbo charged washer.

A light breeze sprinkled blossoms on the ground, the night sky never dark anymore because of the light pollution, when Rodrigo revealed himself. Stepping out of the coffee shop he stretched, unnerved by Romeo's lack of movement. Still, he continued the short jaunt across the street, setting himself equal to his opponent that was just a few yards away. He wished that things could have been different, but Romeo would never be putty and therefore Rodrigo would kill him. And Rodrigo could because Romeo had honor and would never fight dirty. Rodrigo had no honor, no morals. Morals were for those who wanted to die.

" I always wanted her to die," Rodrigo began sorrowfully, "Juliet I mean. I hated her so much."

"Your own mother?" Romeo laughed hollowly, "That's a sin, hating your own parents."

"She knew that I loved you, and she _seduced_ you just to spite me. She never liked you. Romeo who was old enough to drink and gamble but too young to know betrayal. She taught us poetry and art, music and rhetoric. And now she cannot even remember my name, stuck in some state institution, waiting to die. She called me the other day, she thought it was you. I hate you too, you stole her love from me."

To this Romeo had no reply. He'd always felt bad for the little boy Rodrigo, who as a teenager had been so hopeful, he was an empty shell now. They stood across from each other, shimmying knives down jacket sleeves.

Romeo came running first; flexing his drawn blade like a rapier he made a wild slash at Rodrigo's face. Rodrigo managed to block it with his heavy leather jacket protected arm, and he went to slash at Romeo's belly but Romeo danced away.

This lasted for several minutes, them coming at each other and parrying the short blades, sidestepping, grunting, and slicing. Rodrigo's shiny hair began to stick to his forehead from exertion, and Romeo was panting slightly when the owner of the liquor store stepped out into the night.

Some much blood had been spilled on his doorstep, and the sound of gunshots was thoroughly drilled into his brain. He was surprised to see the fighters with only knives, looking more like dancers really when all the gangsters were armed with guns now. Still he was no less on his guard. So much of the time, these fights led to the killing of an innocent bystander. He'd call the cops but didn't expect them to come soon. The police were spread so thin in the city, fighting for funding with corrupt politicians and poorly conceived reform. Instead he'd armed himself. He raised the modest glock and shot in their direction, though his hands shook with fear. They both dropped to their knees at the warning, and he turned back to his store, to wait behind the pictures of beer on mountains of ice and bathing suit clad girls, who should have been shivering like he was shivering.

Romeo felt warm blood trickle down his side, chasing onto the unforgiving concrete on which he laid. It stained his fingers as he flipped over to his back he tried to clot it. Rodrigo looked up just then, and for all his anger and malice before, he immediately came to Romeos side, propping Romeo up on his shoulder he shushed him quietly as Romeo moaned in pain. Rodrigo could hear sirens, someone had called the cops.

"Shit man, I gotta get you up" he said, pulling Romeo up and slinging his weight across his shoulder. Rodrigo looked around wildly, for an alley, a park, but then he saw the movie theatre. Free shows after ten PM, part of some ploy to control L.A's estranged youth and keep them out of trouble.

They walked like that, Rodrigo taking harried careful steps and Romeo dragging along beside him, his arm useless at his side. The walked inside and Rodrigo pulled him into an empty theatre, Bruce Lee glaring from the screen. Rodrigo forced him into the seat, pulling down the cup holder so Romeo could have more support. He stepped back from his handiwork, Romeo sitting there almost bent over with pain clearly written on his face, clutching the hole in his side. In that moment he sat beside him and removing the partition between them, pulled Romeo into his arms. Romeo grasped his hand weakly as color played behind his eyes, and Rodrigo thought that he looked so beautiful in that moment and kissed him on the head.

Rodrigo sat there the whole night as Romeo died in his arms. Lamenting about years lost and time that was meaningless. Still, he was grateful to whatever fucked up god that allowed him these last moments with his friend, his tragedy, his Gwenovere.

**Red Shoes by the Drugstore**

Romeo had left her in that Mustang, pain reverberating through her body. He'd said meet me at the drug store, wear those red shoes. Little Black Girl had driven around for a bit, exploring the countryside and hating herself from driving away from him but not really cause he looked so cool and cocky in the rearview mirror. She'd explored the city of angels, wondering what Ghandi would have thought of the blatant debauchery and filth that effused from the streets. Still LA has a way of growing on you, and she'd fallen in love.

Hours passed and she pulled up in front of the drug store. She felt better. Observing the clientele that walked in and out of the automatic doors, she made up stories about their lives. One woman rushed in with a dog leash in her hand, but no dog. She wore gaudy gold jewelry and obnoxious fake nails, and Little Black Girl imagined that she was the lady in waiting for some alien queen from Venus, ready to steal some random unsuspecting stranger's schnauzer. Another man sashayed up, looking like some gentleman from the thirties with a Dapper Dan hat and tweed coat. She imagined he was coming to bring flowers home to his dear wife, who he still took sunset walks on the beach with.

He still hadn't come. She got out of the car and followed a group of kids into the store, meaning to buy an ice cream because it was a hot night and she wanted something cool and creamy. She selected a vanilla cone and licked at it while staring absently at the rags in the magazine rack, telling of weight loss's and weight gains, new babies and feuds. It was then that she began to feel sick to her stomach. Her head hurt and she slid to the floor, leaning against the counter on the cool linoleum. A horrible piercing pain shot through her side and she clutched at it, as if to squeeze it smaller and smaller.

Hours passed and still he didn't come. Tears leaked from her eyes, sparkling in the harsh manufactured light. She knew in that moment that he wasn't coming back. She pulled herself together; those damn shiny red shoes strapped to her feet, and got up.

……

She drove. Mile after mile, signs passed and the sky turned light pink as the sun rose steadily, soon it shined a vibrant yellow to high noon, and then set to an orchestra of blues and orange. Still she drove, stopping occasionally to get gas or attain sustenance. She wasn't unhappy, but a deep calm settled around her weary shoulders like an oversized and fluffy sweatshirt, old and faded yet still so warm and familiar. She looked up at the dash and spotted the rose that nestled there, the petals wilting. She stuck it behind her ear and dreamed of Romeo.

She drove all the way up California's coast, past San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge and then past the Valley that smelled of fertilizer and sunshine.

She ended up stopping in some sleepy little New England town that was transplanted on the west coast called Fort Bragg in Mendocino County. She reveled in the peaceful and enclosing Red Wood Forest that bordered the land and the seemingly frigid air that still somehow allowed vivacious plant life to grow and bloom.

"Hello there, can I interest you in a cup of hot chocolate?" some friendly elder women asked as Little Black Girl toured the quaint streets, looking cold and alone.

Little Black Girl's first instinct was to refuse but the women looked so nice and inviting she replied, "Yes..please" with a smile. Such a contrast to the harsh abruptness of the urbanites.

She felt Romeo's son growing inside her, and knew that as the child grew older he would leave her, as Romeo left Julliet, because they were roamers, unsettled. Still, she could rest her feet here in the quiet and warmth. Dreams were not broken, they were just walking with a limp.


End file.
